


you're a ten (i'm a four-leaf clover)

by kaermorons



Series: Cottagecore AU [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cottagecore, Flash Fic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24824383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons
Summary: Jaskier moved to the coast to deal with his own problems, but the growing problem in the back garden brought with it a landscaper who could help.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Cottagecore AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807813
Comments: 23
Kudos: 317
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #001





	you're a ten (i'm a four-leaf clover)

The house was perfect.

Except maybe for one or two things, tops. There was the sticking doorframes, the strange musty smell of the carpets, the outdoor paint, the indoor paint, the wiring was at least forty years old. Jaskier was pretty sure there was a colony of doves and bluebirds in the attic, but he hadn’t gotten a good look at them before he’d fled in horror.

So it was perfect.

The little cottage was right at the end of a long road and had its own private trail down to the beach, about a three-minute walk from the back porch. Jaskier knew he’d use that little trail as much as possible if it weren’t for...the garden.

‘Garden’ was a bit of a gross underestimation to describe the impenetrable tangle of flora that had invaded the back end of the lot. Between years of a corporate job leaching his soul away, and a snooty but beautiful girlfriend, Jaskier had lots of practice grinning and bearing it, and at this point, he’d take a bramble forest over a concrete jungle. Luckily, the estate agent he’d been working with had a good recommendation for a landscaper. As soon as he could bear to look at the forest god in his backyard for more than ten minutes, he’d call.

With spotty electricity and spottier internet, Jaskier found himself looking at the garden rather often.

“I don’t need a landscaper. I know my way around shears.” Jaskier had managed to unearth a pair of pruning shears as long as his arm, but...the garden had other ideas.

One thrown back and two very sore hands later, the mass of leaves and branches seemed to have actually grown, encroaching on the poor patio Jaskier took refuge on. With a frown on his face, he sighed and wiggled some loose paving stones under his toes. His frown only deepened as he looked up at the dirty plaster on the side of his house.

His house.

This was his problem now.

No more landlords grifting off a flat in central London, no more tube rides, no more beloved Hungarian take-out. He was alone in this busted-up cottage by the ocean, which he could hear but not see, and he was terrified.

Jaskier drank quite heavily that evening and sent a thrice-edited email to the landscaper’s contact address. “Spellcheck, we need to stop meeting like this,” he slurred, leaning on a box that said Kitchen, but probably just had books.

Despite the late hour, his email inbox pinged a few minutes after Jaskier had sent his cry for help.

_ We’ll send someone out to your house for a quote at eight tomorrow. _

“Well,” Jaskier said, but did not finish, because he had passed out on his couch.

He didn’t know why he was surprised when, at eight the next morning, there was a rather loud knock at the door. He stumbled across the living room and opened the door, squinting in the morning light. “Hi.”

The man before him was dressed in dark canvas pants, a light, long-sleeved shirt, and had his stark white hair back in a thick bun. A piercing state threatened to topple him on the spot. He was built like every knee-wobbly dream Jaskier had ever had about men.

They stood there, staring at one another, for about thirty seconds before Jaskier’s mind caught up with him. “Landscaping!” he shouted. “Uh, come in! Holy shit.” Jaskier opened the door for the man, wincing at the state of his house. “Uh, haven’t really had time, uh. Yeah.” Jaskier flailed his way through the house to the back door, putting his shoulder into it. Embarrassingly, the door did not budge. “Oh, this is a mess, I haven’t been awake for more than five minutes and—”

The man moved forward, gently moving Jaskier out of the way and opening the door with ease. “Humidity from the water. Warps the wood.” The deep voice he spoke with had a practiced gentleness laced through it. Jaskier saw how it could be easy for strangers to misinterpret his grumpiness as anger. He just nodded, trying to get his jitters under control.

His mouth had other plans.

“So um yeah, I tried to. Well. Those shears are mostly rust anyway, couldn’t do much, um.” The man passed an unimpressed look over the discarded shears, the shabby patio, the jungle before him. “Bit of a fixer-upper, huh?” Jaskier said nervously.

The man said nothing, only peering into the brambles and leaves. “There’s a dead rose bush in there. Provided lattice for the rest of the plants.”

“Oh! Roses. I’ve honestly never cared for roses, much too...prickly…” He wiggled his fingers for effect. The man straightened, taking a few pictures on a camera he’d unearthed from his pocket.

“We’re looking at about a week of four-hour days to clear this out to the point you can walk through it.” The man said.

“Oh, of course. That’s not a problem, just bill me, I want to be able to use the door to the beach without killing myself.” Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest. At the cessation of his rambling, the man looked up at him.

“That’s it? You’re just looking for removal?” The man said, frowning in confusion.

“Well, I’m honestly not sure where to begin. I’ve never had a garden before. I can hardly keep basil alive.” Jaskier joked.

“There’s plenty of low-maintenance plants out there. You don’t just want an empty lot, do you?” The small, amused smirk on his lips sent a thrilling shiver down Jaskier’s spine.

“I suppose not. It’s a lot to think about, though. One thing at a time these days. I left the city because it moved too fast for me to keep up with.” The man nodded. “I’m Jaskier, by the way. Did things a bit backward, I’m afraid.” He held his hand out, and the man took it.

“Geralt.” His hand was warm and calloused, probably from years of working shirtless in gardens and wrestling trees from the earth and— “I can email you the quote tonight.”

Jaskier nodded, mouth suddenly dry from his daydream. “Quote. Right. I’ll hold you to it. Um. God, this place is kind of a mess, honestly, you don’t happen to know an electrician or...general contractor?”

Geralt gave that little smirk again. “I know someone. Mind if I take a look?” Jaskier followed him around inside the house, messily hiding his takeout boxes and empty beer bottles. As Geralt took pictures of warping wood, peeling paint, and treacherous wiring, Jaskier babbled about how bloody cold everything was on the coast.

“Yeah, well, you’re on the coast. It’s not sunshine and light breezes all the time.” Geralt said, helping lift a giant box of books up the stairs. It was certainly too heavy for him to lift on his own. Geralt didn’t so much as grunt as he picked it up.

“London is at least consistently ill-weathered.” Jaskier huffed, making Geralt laugh. The noise struck a beautiful chord inside of Jaskier, his very bones resonating with the sound. “So um, do you think you could put in a good word to your general contractor friend?” Jaskier said. “I’d prefer not to suffocate myself in blankets to stay warm at night.”

Geralt fixed him with a curious look. “I’ll let him know.”

Relief flooded Jaskier’s veins. “Oh, wonderful. I’m so glad.” He grinned up at Geralt, who seemed to freeze in place for a moment before clearing his throat and walking back down the stairs.

“You have a fireplace, why not use that at night?”

“Flue’s caked on, about three inches thick.”

“I know a chimney sweep.” Geralt said quickly.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised you know all the best handymen,” Jaskier said with delight. Geralt muttered something under his breath, but he was also moving for the door.

“I’ll quote ya tonight.” Geralt promised, before waving goodbye and getting in his truck. It left Jaskier in a somewhat flustered state, gripping the doorframe long after Geralt had driven out of view.

“Oh, I’m fucked.” Jaskier moaned into his hands.

* * *

Jaskier read the email Geralt sent about a hundred times before he could even absorb it. Geralt had stirred his pot, just barging in and opening doors and looking beautiful and perfect and everything Jaskier wanted for Christmas and his next fifty birthdays wrapped into one. He didn’t even scowl at the leaky pipes or the chipping linoleum like he had the first few days.

The email was very professional, detailing the proposed work schedule Geralt had mentioned, taxes and fees, et cetera. Jaskier felt like when he played Mr. Darling in a primary school production of Peter Pan, just playing at being an adult rather than actually being one. His finger hovered over the contact information for his mother, wanting to ask her advice, get some guidance, anything.

No.

He’d have to explain why he fled London to the South Downs, why he broke up with his long-time semi-royal girlfriend, why he quit his job and decided to whittle down his savings away being a hermit. That was a bit much to talk about in one conversation, especially since his mother hardly let him ever get a word in edgewise on his “mum, I need to tell you something” category of conversations.

“Hermithood is good for me,” Jaskier said, laying on a questionably-clean carpet, in a house without electricity, with a giant mound of shrubbery in the back nine that probably wanted to kill him in his sleep. “This is a great life I lead.”

Something, somewhere in the house, broke. It was probably the fault of the doves.

He did not call his mother, but he made up for it by crying into a bottle of wine and whining about birds.

* * *

He answered the email that morning, accepting the quote and scheduling the removal service as soon as possible. He unpacked as many books as he could before the knock on his door. It was Geralt, with two other equally-massive men behind him. They all wore the same garb, a light t-shirt with a blue logo on the chest. “Good morning!” Jaskier chirped. He was determined not to be caught unawares by the man again.

Geralt smiled at him. “These are Eskel and Lambert, would you rather we went around the house when we get here?”

“Oh, you can use the house if you need to, I’ll open the back gate for you!” Jaskier bounded away from the door, hopping along the rocky path. A hand was already reaching over the wooden gate. “Oh!”

“Lambert, he said he’d open the gate,” an exasperated voice said.

“I’m just helping!” Probably Lambert replied.

They walked through the gate, boots crunching the gravel underfoot. Geralt poked his head around. “I have some paperwork we can take care of while they set up.” Jaskier nodded, still barefoot, and feeling even shorter than he was before Geralt the other day. The closeness they shared while filling out waivers and forms and the contract itself was giving Jaskier a sense of headiness he usually didn’t feel around such men. Well, not when he was taken, at least.

He needed to get his feelings under control. He’d just left a six-year relationship and needed to know who he was again. He signed everything and nodded to Geralt.

“Alright, let’s get to work. Should have a green waste haul-away coming by tomorrow, so we’ll mostly be disassembling but not taking anything away.” Jaskier just nodded again dumbly. “You can just relax inside, and I’ll let you know if there’s anything you need to make decisions on.”

Jaskier was left clutching the paperwork, muddy feet on a dirty carpet. He scoffed at himself and quickly showered. Hopefully, they didn’t have any questions while he quickly changed.

He spent most of his day stealing peeks at the landscapers in the back yard, seeing them dismantle the massive beast of branches and leaves. He was working on his computer, half-charged even though he’d left it on the plug through the night. Maybe he’d be able to visit that little cafe he saw when he drove through.

It was amazing how much of an improvement four hours made. When Geralt knocked at the back door to inform him of their departure, Jaskier hardly recognized the place. He gaped at the work done. “This is fantastic!”

“It’ll look better when we can haul the cuttings away. I wanted to show you this.” Geralt led him through the small path they’d carved into the mess. “Down here.”

Geralt crouched, and Jaskier followed. Geralt held an arm straight out. “I think that is a bathtub.”

“A what?” Jaskier gawked.

“A bathtub.” Geralt clarified. “There was a strange trend awhile ago, using bathroom fixtures in the garden. We’ll get it out for you.”

“No!” Jaskier gasped. “It...maybe, it’s a little charming.” He stood, trying to hide his bashful blush.

Geralt rose as well, the afternoon sun alighting his white hair in glorious gold and yellow. “Keeping still water in a backyard isn’t the best idea, especially where mosquitos can dwell.”

“Do you know someone who does water features?” Jaskier blurted. “Fountain work.”

Geralt fixed him with that same curious expression. “I know a guy,” he said carefully.

“Oh, goodness, of course you do,” Jaskier said, laughing up at the sky. Geralt’s eyes followed his movements, not impatient, but somehow enraptured by it all. Jaskier met his gaze. “Maybe, could I have their number when you’re finished out here?”

“Maybe,” Geralt smiled, a real smile this time. It wasn’t a smirk or a grimace. He smiled brightly at Jaskier like he’d said something brilliant. “Maybe you could.”

“Well. Thank you for your hard work today. I really do appreciate it.” Jaskier took a step back, walking toward the house. “I don’t wish to keep you past your shift schedule.”

Geralt shook his head. “Don’t mention it. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jaskier.” He packed up his things, and he departed with the other two men who’d dismantled his lawn.

* * *

Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert all arrived each morning promptly at nine. Jaskier had managed to align his schedule off of theirs, letting them in through the back gate and fixing them all some lunch before they went, as thanks. Geralt never said much about it, but Lambert and Eskel both expressed their thanks for the food quite loudly.

“You tryna get a discount out of us, Jaskier?” Lambert joked during a break when he’d brought out some iced tea.

“Nothing of the sort, it’s a bit silly to fight a contract with iced tea.” Jaskier snarked right back.

Each day, the garden grew more and more into its own. Jaskier was still not sure what to do with the massive bathtub, but the idea of putting a fountain in was quite charming. Now that the lawn was unearthed, Jaskier realized he had a few beautiful trees at the back edge of the lot. His artist’s brain imagined picnics and morning coffee under their boughs, shaded from harsh ocean breezes. Geralt listened to his rambling with focused attention, even writing notes in a little book he kept on him.

Every afternoon, when the dishes from lunch were in the sink, and all the tools were put away, Geralt would lean on the warped door frame he’d forced open the first day they met. He wouldn’t track his muddy boots through Jaskier’s house, but he leaned in and gave those beautiful smiles Jaskier dreamed about at night, sharing jokes and stories and maybe a few more glasses of tea than was strictly professional to accept.

Little by little, the hastily-built walls around Jaskier’s heart chipped away and left cheerfully along with each twisted branch of the terrible rose bush. He felt his days grow lighter with affection and joy again, looking his fill at the beautiful white-haired man who’d shoved his way into his heart. The guarded heart he’d inherited from years of disappointment in the city now surged with laughter and new friends, promises of beers and a dinner party once the cottage was fit for human enjoyment. 

At the end of the contract, Jaskier found himself saddened by the newly barren state of his garden. The cottage itself was in no better shape, but it was nice being able to easily slip down to the shoreline every morning to run along the water. He enjoyed the flexibility the new space allowed him and even tried doing cartwheels for the first time in decades. He was sure the doves were laughing at him from the attic.

After the last truck had gone, taking away the final mess of his garden, Jaskier sighed and sat on the patio, back against the outer wall to the cottage. A bottle of wine kept him company. There were no afternoons left to drag out with Geralt, flirting across a door frame.

He hardly heard the gate latch. The only point he realized Geralt was there was when the man spoke. “Hi,” he said.

Jaskier nearly jumped out of his skin. He was so used to the strange, deafening nature of the city that the open noise of the coast dulled his senses. “Geralt!” he exclaimed. “Hi, um. Hi.” Jaskier fumbled to set the wine down somewhere stable, but it seemed every paving stone was on a precarious angle.

“Hi,” Geralt said again, this time with a smile. “I...I knocked.” He gestured vaguely at the direction of the door. Jaskier notes that he’d changed out of his work clothes into something comfy-looking and well-worn. Comfort suited him.

“Yeah, I’ve been out here. It seems to be cooler than inside, sometimes.” Jaskier said breathlessly. “Did you forget something here? Oh god, did my cheque bounce?” Jaskier moaned, holding a hand to his forehead.

“No! No, it’s none of that.” Geralt assured him quickly. He seemed to be gnawing at his lip. “I was wondering if,” he swallowed harshly. “If you wanted to go for a walk? With me.”

Jaskier practically swooned, his heart in his throat as he flipped to make sense of it all. “Yes. Yeah, I’d love to. I can just. Let me put the wine away—”

“You can bring the wine. If you want.” Geralt said stiltedly. “I wanted to walk with you on the beach.” Jaskier read his expression for a few moments, trying to seek any ounce of jest. He found none.

“Of course.” Jaskier grinned and walked with him to the newly-repaired back gate. Geralt surprised him again by removing his shoes and socks, burying his toes in the sand as soon as he could.

“I used to live in the mountains. Always so bitterly cold, rough. You’ll think it’s silly, but I’ve always thought sand was the softest thing in the world.” Geralt said all this while staring down at his feet. The waves crashed beside them as they walked.

“I don’t think that’s silly. I know how you feel. The city left me bitter and rough. I decided I didn’t like that version of me, in the end.” Jaskier replied, speaking just loud enough for Geralt to hear.

“Have you found your coastal you, then?” Geralt asked, taking a broad step forward and turning, walking backward as Jaskier walked forward. It was cute.

“I’m not sure. Still mending a few broken pieces,” Jaskier said softly. Geralt stopped walking, and they almost collided. Jaskier held his hands up, letting them rest on Geralt’s broad chest. He was a beacon of warmth against the cool coastal breeze. 

“I think we all have a few broken pieces. Doesn’t make us any less ourselves,” Geralt said, not moving away. Jaskier didn’t move, either. The cold water lapped at their ankles. “Broken pots holding water, and all that.”

“I think I’d like to pick your brain about that.” Jaskier grinned.

“I think I’d let you,” Geralt murmured as he gently rubbed his hands up and down Jaskier’s arms. He took the wine from his loose fingers and set it down in the sand. “Would you pity me if I had some broken pieces too?”

“Never,” Jaskier vowed instantly. “I’d never.”

Geralt took his hands in his and pressed gentle kisses along his knuckles. “Neither would I.”

They held the moment together between them, precious and unbreakable.

It was perfect.

Except for Jaskier’s mouth, as always.

“You’re not going to pretend you don’t like me when I hire other contractors for the cottage, will you?”

“You’re not hiring anyone else.” Geralt chuckled.

“But you said—chimney sweep!” Jaskier sputtered.

“I’m going to kiss you now because you’re making me think of work the more you talk.”

“I think that’s fine.”

So it was perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading <3


End file.
